Ryan (Mallick Brothers #2)(22)

So then we ate and drank and I got pretty wasted, every part of me tingly and alive and my head a fun little anxiety-free zone that felt refreshing as I snuggled into Ryan on the couch, his strong arm around me, handing me a champagne flute with the other as we were at the one minute mark from midnight.

We watched the ball drop.

We watched a new year come to us, offering things I prayed I could have.

He leaned over, gave me a sweet, soft, careful kiss to the lips and gave me an almost whispered, "Happy New Year, honey."

"Happy New Year," I agreed, giving him a smile I felt down to my soul as he raised his glass.

"Progress?" he asked.

And I nodded. "Progress."

Perfect.

It was all so perfect it hurt.

You know, until the next day when it all got ruined.





ELEVEN





Ryan





I never really gave a shit about New Years Eve. Most of the time, I was in bed and half asleep while answering work emails at midnight. It just wasn't my thing. I wasn't a party guy and I hadn't had a serious girlfriend to give a shit about a midnight kiss since I was probably in my early twenties. 

But putting a little effort in, staying awake, and watching Dusty get fucking bombed in the goddamn cutest way possible then getting a kiss at midnight?

Yeah, totally worth it.

Getting to feel her come around my fingers as she cried out my name into my neck?

Fucking perfect.

Getting to understand how she came to be how she was? That was incredibly important. I needed to know. I needed to see how to look out for her in the future.

The story about her mother was fucked. Having come from a family that, while their methods of parenting weren't exactly traditional, they were all done in love, in the interest of raising good, strong, respectful men, I couldn't imagine what it was like to not have that. To be treated like a pest, to be put in potentially dangerous situations.

If what Bry said was true, I was glad she wasn't in touch with that piece of work. She was probably better off without her.

Speaking of Bry, I had heard from him twice, just updates saying he hadn't made any headway yet. Which, frankly, meant he probably never would. The product was likely gone and he and Dusty and therefore me, were all likely fucked.

My phone rang, Mark's name flashing on the screen. "What's up, Mark?" I asked, grabbing my keys, giving Dusty a quick kiss to the temple, having already told her as I dressed that I needed to run into Chaz's to check the log for the night before, and headed into the hall.

"So, couldn't find shit out myself so I reached out to Sawyer's little brother..."

"Barrett?" I asked, having a vague memory of him back from when we used to hang with Sawyer in high school. Barrett hadn't been the shit-starting, rough and tumble type like me and my brothers and Sawyer were so we didn't see him much, always glued to his computers, video games, or books. I'd heard that he had a knack with some investigating shit and that Sawyer used him occasionally on cases, but didn't realize he did anything for himself.

"Yeah, he's a whiz at this shit now apparently. Anyway, he did some digging and traced Bry to some guy in Camden named Dom Donovan."

He paused at that and I knew him well enough to know that that was a bad thing. Mark never had an issue talking your fucking ear off when he felt like it, which was most of the fucking time. "Not getting any younger here, Mark."

"He's bad. The kind of bad we don't fuck with. The kind of bad that no one fucks with. He's got a rap sheet that makes Atlas Shrugged seem short," he said with real disgust in his tone. He'd needed to read that book in his final year of high school and got sick of it all of three pages in and decided to charm one of the cute nerdy girls in class to write his paper for him. Which she did, happily. And he got an A without ever having read the book I found him using as a doorstop in his apartment.

"For?"

"Mostly violent shit. Aggravated assault, guns charges, drunk and disorderly."

"Not possession?" I asked, bleeping the locks to my car.

"Never been caught with even a joint on him. He keeps himself clean of that, only dirtying himself up, it seems, to protect his rep. And aside from the shit that's on the books, there is a lot that's not that he has attributed to him. Including six rapes and nine murders."

Fucking wonderful.

"And that doesn't even scratch the surface of the shit his men have gotten away with either."

I stiffened in the seat of my car, not bothering to turn it over because something occurred to me right then, something I really didn't want to consider, something that meant a world of bad.



       
         
       
        

"What is it?" he asked, obviously picking up on the heaviness even across the line.

"Ever stop to consider that maybe this was an inside thing. Maybe Dom got a whiff of something he doesn't like about Bry and took his shit back?" Which would make sense why they were so merciless with Dusty. If Dom and his men were big on rape, then it was a fucking miracle I got there in time."

"Then that means that Bry..."

"Fuck," I said, hanging up and bringing up my contacts, finding the call from Bry and hitting call.

"I don't have any update..."

"Wherever the fuck you are, you need to leave. You need to find somewhere no one will look for you and lay the fuck low."

There was a long pause. "Why?"

"Because it seems more likely that Dom's guys were the ones in Dusty's apartment, taking back the product. That's why you can't find it on the street. That's why no one is recognizing these fucks."

"Jesus Christ," he said and I could actually hear him booking it, the whizz of cars as they passed, the huff of his breath. "Why the fuck would he come after me?" he asked after I heard something slam.

"Only you can tell me that. Maybe it's as simple as him not liking you keeping the product in Dusty's place. Maybe it's someone you're connected to that he doesn't trust. Maybe he thinks you're skimming. Who the fuck knows. Guys in positions like his get paranoid and do stupid shit. To them, better to take you out than have to worry about you."

And then he said something that proved just how much the poor fuck cared about her. "Dusty. You need to..."

"Don't worry about Dusty. I will take care of her," I said.

"I get that maybe she's more yours than mine now, man. But you listen to me, you better fucking make sure that..."

"I like that you care about her this much and want to make sure she is safe, but you don't need to tell me how to handle my shit. I can protect my people. You worry about yourself."

Again, a pause, likely not liking having to take back seat with Dusty, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it. "So what the hell am I supposed to be doing? Laying low and sitting on my hands for the rest of my life?"

That wasn't a bad point.

Getting him and Dusty to safer places didn't solve the problem. It was a temporary bandaid over a giant, gaping wound.

"Do it until I can think of another way around this," I said, hanging up.

Fact of the matter was, Bry's problems were not my problems. That being said, if they had been watching him, they watched her. If they watched her, they knew she and Bry were at least somewhat close. Then they would figure that if they got to her, they could maybe get the whereabouts of Bry. 

There was no way I was going to let that happen.

But to make sure of that, I was going to have to do something I knew she wasn't going to like, would hate in fact.

If I could think of any other solution, I would.

But safe was what she needed to be, even if it meant she hated me for it.

I sighed, picking my cell back up and dialing my father's number. "Mallick," his voice clipped, being someone who never checked the ID before picking up.

"Pops, got a problem," I started, exhaling hard.

"On New Years Day?" he scoffed then let out a humorless laugh. "Only my boys would ring in the new year with a problem. What is it?"

"Yeah, no this is something we all need to get together and talk about."

There was a short pause then, proving once again that he had some kind of sixth sense, "This has to do with your girl, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"And, again, only one of my fucking sons would find themselves a sweet, nice little shut-in who brings heaps of trouble along with her from the privacy of her apartment." That was Charlie Mallick- used to a life of uncertainty, of chaos, of accepting shit and dealing with it and moving on. "Alright. When do you need to talk to us?"

"I need to get Dusty somewhere safe first and then I will be in touch. No later than tomorrow. This needs to be handled before it escalates."

"Alright. Text one of your brothers about it and we will set it up. Get your girl safe."

He ended the call and I climbed back out of my car, locking the doors, and hitting the remote start so it warmed up. It looked like I wouldn't be going into work after all.

"Hey, what are you doing back so soon?" Dusty asked, giving me a smile from the couch where she had propped herself up after I left with two bottles of water, an icepack, and Tums. Apparently, she wasn't at the point with us where she was willing to admit she had a wicked hangover because she had been making breakfast when I left like nothing was wrong. A breakfast that was still sitting on the counter, uneaten.